Chains on the floor

Today, a funeral.

Dead and gone are the old ways.

The old voices, the old demands, the burning churning sub and unconscious that believed in myths, burning with vampiric red hot coals in my heart.

The old me that felt inferior.

The old me that felt guilt for being me.

The old me that suffered with quiet overly considerate voice.

The old me that believed I didn’t deserve much.

Dead. I celebrate your death. And keep the flowers for myself.

Push me, and I just become more resolved. Like a stone, I sit.

This new me does acts in self respect, for and of love.

This new me, will face anything down.

This new me knows I’m not wrong.

This new me, that knows if anything feels at all abusive to act immediately, leave, with no energy but love.

This new me alive and well.

This new me spends energy on things that bring joy and peace.

I’m tenacious. Just being me. I live for me.